


Eclipsing the Sun

by Rroselavy



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-30
Updated: 2010-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-10 08:15:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rroselavy/pseuds/Rroselavy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neil uncovers a devastating secret and confronts Koumyou.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eclipsing the Sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [macavitykitsune](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=macavitykitsune).



> A side-story to the [](http:)_Sanctuary_ universe. If you haven't read that, this story won't make much sense.

Koumyou finally managed to settle Genjo down for the night. Afterwards, he retired to his study to ponder the letter he'd gotten in the post; it was another one from Elinor. He scanned the elegant script flowing over the unruled vellum-her capital letters and lower case _g_'s and _y_'s all bearing stately flourishes. He had to admit she had great taste in writing paper--far better than her taste in men, his mind unhelpfully added. Koumyou reached for his nightcap-Fonseca-and thought back to that fateful day when he'd introduced Elinor to his good friend Hiram. Even though their meeting had been inevitable-eventually Elinor would have accompanied Koumyou to one of the numerous State affairs Hiram made sure he was invited to, or they could have run into each other at any number of the museum openings Koumyou had curated and Hiram made certain to clear his schedule to attend. Koumyou regretted the pain that it had inflicted on his sister. Hiram, oblivious to her infatuation, or perhaps to spite it, had destroyed her.

Koumyou should have known what the added sparkle in her eyes meant when over lunch, the next time she'd been in town, she'd casually asked after Hiram. As it was, the entire sordid affair had happened for years right under Koumyou's nose; he'd only found out about it when he'd been called upon to clean up the mess and to keep his sister in line. It had been for the best, though. Once Hiram had made it clear that he wouldn't be blackmailed-that his long-term dalliance with Elinor had meant nothing, and he'd not be leaving his blue-blooded wife who was a scion of Boston's philanthropic world-Elinor had had no interest in raising the child she was carrying. Koumyou had been her older brother, her confidante and was then transformed into her knight in shining armor. He rescued her from her circumstances and freed her to the bohemian lifestyle of an up-and-coming painter, and she'd never looked back, or, at least, that's what he chose to believe.

He drained his drink and set the empty glass on the desk blotter of his antique mahogany desk and then opened the center drawer, carefully sliding Genjo's crayon drawings aside to find his cache of marijuana and rolling papers. As Koumyou meticulously rolled a joint, he thought back to his college days at Harvard, where he'd first met Hiram Jameson. It had been a chance encounter - Hiram had literally knocked him on his ass (he'd always had a larger-than-life-bull-in-a-China-shop persona)-and, in the ensuing confusion, had begged Koumyou's pardon, helped him to his feet, and then blurted out _you're a dude?_ The stunned expression on Hiram's face had been priceless, and not one many could ever claim privilege to seeing.

From such inauspicious beginnings had blossomed an unlikely friendship. Hiram had insisted on making up for his _faux pas_ (which was one Koumyou was used to-his long blond braid, clean-shaven face and slender frame often caused double-takes around the college grounds) and they'd repaired to the campus coffee shop. They talked for hours; Koumyou found Hiram fascinating, and Hiram found Koumyou's unflappable personality a centering influence that offset his braggadocio. Together, they formed the perfect complement, and had been practically inseparable for the rest of their undergraduate career.

Elinor had taken to writing long letters to Koumyou when Genjo was still a baby. In those first correspondences she'd stuck to telling Koumyou about the trials and tribulations of her burgeoning art career, asking his advice about galleries and dealers, and gossiping about the family. Gradually, though, she'd edged in references to 'the boy.' Elinor was well aware that she was skating close to the edge; the terms of her agreement with Hiram were that she would have no contact with her son. For those rights, he'd become her patron, setting her up in a loft in New York City's SoHo district.

Koumyou rolled a joint and then turned to his record collection, sliding _Let It Bleed_ out of its dust jacket and threading the platter on the spindle of his turntable. As the first strains of "Gimme Shelter" began to play, he reclined on the Chesterfield sofa opposite the fireplace and lit up, staring at the huge painting that was propped up against the mantel in front of the fireplace. The canvas depicted an impasto of huge sunflower blooms sprawled across the canvas, bathed in warm golds, oranges and soft greens. Elinor had sent it - along with a clipping of a newspaper review which had viewed her mid-career retrospective and dismissed her _oeuvre_ as "quaint."

He took a deep drag and exhaled, the near-immediate feeling of euphoria blossoming in his stomach as the tension that had built up from a long, difficult day leaching slowly out of his body. The reviewer hadn't been fair, and Koumyou didn't think that because he was Elinor's brother. The one thing she'd often rebuked Koumyou over was his unwavering honesty; even though she was his sister, Koumyou would always let her know when he thought her work was lacking.

The painting had the quality of a blazing summer afternoon; the huge flower heads positively shimmered the mid-day light. A radiance emanated from the canvas, seeming to bathe the room in a warm glow. He took another hit, holding the smoke for a brief second in his lungs before expelling it. The painting was quite good.

She wanted to meet the boy. She said she didn't want anything more than to just see him, even if only from afar. She was testing Koumyou, testing his loyalty to his old friend. The unspoken challenge was clear; Elinor could at any time come up to Boston and watch him bring Genjo to school without him being the wiser for it. By asking his permission, she was asking him to actively stand against Hiram. Koumyou sighed and took another hit, watching wisps of blue smoke curl in the air and dissipate.

There really wasn't any question; his loyalty was firmly entrenched with Elinor, but Koumyou was equally wary about a misstep that would upset the life he'd carved out with his son. And, as far as he was concerned, Genjo was _his_ son. Koumyou had taken him home from the hospital as a newborn and had arranged his life around the infant. It had been an overwhelming responsibility for Koumyou, who, prior to Genjo's arrival had been known, on occasion, to go for days without eating, sleeping or grooming himself. Genjo had grounded him, given his life a sense of purpose, given Koumyou the motivation, the _focus_ to negotiate the nuances of the greater world. He would rather die than give up Genjo, and Elinor would never ask that, but Koumyou wasn't so sure about Hiram. Lately his friend had been pushing Koumyou for more information about Genjo, and Koumyou worried about the significance. Hiram didn't seem bothered, though, by his evasiveness, so perhaps it was just a show of interest and, if Koumyou dodged questions long enough, Hiram would grow bored. And another thing, Koumyou told himself that if Hiram were genuinely interested in his bastard son, he'd have demanded Koumyou produce him at one of their periodic update meetings.

The side ended with the title track. Koumyou extinguished the joint and set the ashtray on the low table in front of the couch. He crossed the room and flipped the record over, then poured himself another glass of port. He had a good buzz on and was beginning to feel the full effects of the marijuana.

Considering Elinor's letter again, he now realized what she was doing by writing her request. She could always spy on him and Genjo without his permission, but Elinor loved her older brother dearly; what was manifesting itself in her writing him was the esteem in which she held him. She wouldn't put him in the uncomfortable situation of catching her watching them, though Koumyou wasn't so sure being complicit to her intentions was a better alternative. He sat back down on the couch and stretched his legs out.

Elinor had always looked up to him, and even though there were nine years between them, she and Koumyou had always been close. They'd grown up in a strait-laced household, and the events of the sixties, coupled with Koumyou coming out about his sexual orientation had driven a deep wedge between him and his parents, while at the same time bringing he and Elinor closer.

His mother had been the perfect, obedient housewife; his father, a business titan with a pedigree that traced right back to the Mayflower. That neither of his children had ever exhibited one iota of his business acumen had been an unending source of friction. The knowledge that Koumyou would never bring him an heir had been another nail in the coffin.

Koumyou took another sip of his drink. Despite the unsettling content of his meandering thoughts, it failed to dull the blissful haze the grass had enveloped him in. Overall, like many of the things in his life that had at first blush seemed tragic, being estranged from his parents had ultimately worked out in his favor; he'd been able to steer Genjo clear of the family influence and expectations as well.

He supposed he'd been quite selfish to keep the boy in the cocoon he'd created, but Koumyou had weathered his father's bitter disappointment, his mother's impotent frustration at being stunted intellectually and his sister's artistic rebellion; he'd spared their sole grandchild the honor of becoming the new focal point for family hopes.

At the same time, he'd also managed to spare Genjo from Hiram's expectations. Koumyou's thoughts then turned to Hiram's other son, who'd not been so lucky. Neil Jameson was a brilliant boy, though Koumyou could hardly call him a boy. At seventeen, Neil had already finished his college career, graduating Harvard with dual law and doctoral degrees. The last time Koumyou had seen Neil was at Hiram's office where he'd been interning for the summer while waiting to take his bar examinations. Rather than acting the proud father, as any man should with such accomplished progeny, Hiram had met Neil's course of study with contempt; deeming his doctorate in Latin Studies "frivolous." Neil had simmered silently before the hulking Governor they he'd turned on his heel angrily, responding with a muttered _futue te ipsum_ under his breath as he stormed out of the elder Jameson's ornate offices. Koumyou managed to stifle a laugh and schooled his face of all mirth before his friend noticed.

Hiram confessed to Koumyou how impossible Neil had become, which Koumyou translated as the teen asserting his independence and his individuality. Koumyou felt for Neil; felt a certain kindred spirit to the youth that only served to underscore what he'd come to understand was an undeniable attraction. That had been another thing Koumyou had carefully concealed. Since becoming a father, Koumyou had all but given up any chance of romance, even though Hiram had told him on numerous times he had no problem with Koumyou's sexuality. As much as he trusted the face value of Hiram's pledge, Koumyou often wondered if it would hold true if it were revealed that the sole object of his desire was Neil Jameson. Not that he believed his interest was remotely reciprocated. Still, it was getting harder and harder for Koumyou to be in Neil's presence without inappropriate thoughts intruding.

Koumyou finished his second drink and settled into the couch, content to let the album finish out before he turned in for the evening, leaving his response to Elinor's letter for the morning when he felt more clarity and resolve. He must have dozed off because the next thing he knew the Rolling Stones were midway through "Monkey Man" -he'd missed the end of "Midnight Rambler" and "You Got The Silver" in its entirety. His heartbeat increased rapidly, though, when he heard urgent rapping at his front door. He wondered who could be calling on him at such an odd time as he made his way out of the study and down the hall to his entrance foyer. Koumyou stepped through the oak and lead-glass double doors and peered through the gauzy fabric that covered the French door on the other side of the vestibule, recognizing the figure standing outside. He smiled.

"Neil!" He started congenially as he opened the door to his unannounced guest. "What a-"

"Where is he?" Neil cut off Koumyou's greeting, and the older man immediately sensed the teen's anger.

"Where is who?" Koumyou responded, confusion, aided by alcohol and marijuana, creating a dream-like quality to the exchange.

Neil pushed past him and Koumyou grabbed the teen's arm, only to have his hand roughly jerked as Neil slipped his grip. He wheeled and grabbed Koumyou by the collar and, taking advantage of his addled state, pressed him against the wall.

"The boy," he hissed, his breath hot against Koumyou's skin. "My _brother._" The warm, cozy bliss Koumyou had been wrapped up in vanished, replaced by an icy dread.

"I-I-" he scrambled for words.

"Don't lie to me." Neil's voice was dead quiet. Koumyou broke Neil's hold and composed himself.

"Come inside and we'll talk." He closed the front door and then the inside doors. Neil stood still, his body coiled and tense, waiting for Koumyou's next move.

"I want to see him," Neil gritted. "Now."

Koumyou shook his head and the next thing he knew, he was dodging a punch; it glanced harmlessly over his shoulder, a testament to his quick reflexes despite his altered state. Koumyou responded instinctively, his fingers wrapping around Neil's narrow wrist-he felt the bones grind under his grip-and Neil gasped from what Koumyou suspected was both surprise and not a little bit of pain. He let go.

"What good would that do, the state you're in?" he asked.

Neil absently rubbed his wrist.

"I thought you were different," he said flatly. "You always treated me ..." His voice trailed off. He leaned against the wall, wincing when he gingerly rotated his wrist. Koumyou felt a pang of guilt; even though he'd only been defending himself, he hadn't meant to hurt Neil.

He watched Neil's chest rise and fall and, as Koumyou struggled to even out his breath, the strains of "Monkey Man," reaching its crescendo, drifted in from the study. Koumyou was surprised the song was still playing; it felt as if a lifetime had passed by since Neil knocked on his door. He recalled the next song-the last cut on the album. A small smile ghosted over his lips at the sentiment of the title.

Koumyou finished Neil's statement for him.

"I've always treated you the way I believed was right." He hazarded a glance at Neil's face; behind his glasses, his dark eyes were tentative and guarded. "Did Hi-your father tell you?" Koumyou gently steered Neil toward the study.

Neil snorted derisively. "What makes you think he would? That's why I came here." The statement both saddened Koumyou but also gave him hope.

"To accuse me of lying?" he asked pointedly. In the silence that greeted his question, Mick Jagger began to sing.

_I saw her today at the reception  
A glass of wine in her hand_

"You didn't?" Neil grabbed his arm and spun Koumyou around.

"No," Koumyou replied evenly. He watched the incredulous look bloom across Neil's face. Koumyou's eyes drifted down to Neil's hand, still gripping his arm. His gaze slid back to Neil's face. His lips were parted by surprise. "If anything, it was a sin of omission," Koumyou added matter-of-factly. "Something I wasn't at liberty to discuss."

"You're afraid of him."

"Another accusation?"

"Take it however you like." There was a hint of petulance in Neil's voice.

Later, Koumyou would blame it on the alcohol he'd consumed and the marijuana he'd ingested, but at that moment, Neil's words seemed like an audacious provocation. Before he realized what he was doing, Koumyou had stepped in to Neil and pinned him against the wall.

Later, Koumyou would say that he'd only taken Neil up on his offer.

Mick Jagger's voice sang out on the stereo's speakers.

_You can't always get what you want  
But if you try some times, you might find  
You get what you need._

Koumyou surged forward. In the split second before his lips met Neil's, Koumyou felt heat radiating off Neil's skin akin to the aura he'd felt radiating off of Elinor's painting. He smelled the sharp tang of sweat wafting off Neil's skin; it registered that Neil must have run to his home, all the way from his family's posh townhouse in Beacon Hill.

And then, suddenly, nothing mattered. It didn't matter that he was twice Neil's age, because Koumyou had always thought of the teen as an equal. It didn't matter that _technically_ Neil hadn't even reached the age of consent, nor that, for all Koumyou knew, Neil wasn't even attracted to men.

At the touch of Neil's lips, Koumyou felt a fire igniting through his veins. As he pressed forward some more, his tongue sliding into Neil's mouth, the tiny mewl that action elicited jolted Koumyou to the core. He slid his hands through the soft halo of Neil's black hair and deepened the kiss, his tongue mapping out the recesses of Neil's mouth-_tasting_ him-before Koumyou finally came to his senses.

He backed away suddenly, his lips tingling. Glancing up, he noticed Neil's glasses were askew, and his lips were blushed red, glistening from the kiss. It was almost comical and, if he hadn't just been ardently kissing Neil, Koumyou might have laughed. As it was, his brain was racing with thoughts of how he could possibly control the damage he'd just inflicted.

"What was _that_?"

What was it, indeed. Koumyou was at a loss to explain his actions. He stared dumbly at Neil, trying to find the words to explain his momentary lapse of good judgment. Jagger unhelpfully filled in the silence.

_And I went down to the demonstration  
To get my fair share of abuse  
Singing, "We're gonna vent our frustration  
If we don't we're gonna blow a 50-amp fuse"_

"Neil, I-"

"Don't say you didn't mean it," Neil warned, his voice unusually husky.

He'd meant to apologize, but the stricken look on Neil's face stopped Koumyou. He stood there helplessly, unable to speak, unable to move, caught in Neil's unfathomable gaze.

And then Neil kissed him back.

At first Koumyou stood still, his mind futilely denying that Neil's mouth was hungrily devouring his lips, that Neil's body was pressed against his, insistently pushing him toward the sofa. And God, he was hard, they both were. Neil's hands snaked between their chests, and his fingers worked feverishly at the buttons of Koumyou's shirt, fumbling them back through their buttonholes, exposing his chest to the air.

He knew he needed to put a stop to it before they went to far. Hell, Koumyou knew they'd gone too far already, but all reason fled when Neil dipped his head and latched on to one of his nipples. Koumyou drew in a shuddering breath as Neil's teeth bit into the tender flesh-the sharp, pleasurable pain awakening a desire stronger than he'd ever felt. He'd managed to fool himself for so long and too well; until that moment Koumyou had been able to rationalize that Neil was off-limits, but now his defenses had been smashed, Koumyou succumbed. All the pent-up desire he'd ignored flowed through his body, demanding reparation.

Koumyou slid his hands over Neil's back, curling his fingers under the hem of his shirt. He yanked the garment up, forcing them to part as he pulled it over Neil's head and discarded it. Then he planted his hand in the center of Neil's chest and pushed him onto the couch.

The look of surprise on Neil's face turned to uncertainty as he gazed up at Koumyou's face. His glasses were even more askew now, and slightly fogged as well. Koumyou carefully removed them, folded them and set them on the table, then finished what Neil had started, pulling the tails of his shirt out of his jeans and undoing the rest of the buttons before dropping it to the floor. He stood in front of Neil, with his hands loosely on his hips, admiring the long, lean line of the teen's body. His skin was flawless, his dusky nipples taut, the dark aureoles puckered.

The record faded out, and the room was suddenly, unnaturally silent.

Neil began to speak and Koumyou dropped to a crouch next to him, his index finger brushing over those seductive lips. Neil rolled onto his hip and leaned forward, meeting Koumyou halfway. The kiss was tentative, but soon grew heated as their tongues bumped together and tangled and rolled. Their hands eagerly explored naked flesh and, at Neil's urging, Koumyou joined him on the couch. They lay side-by-side, touching, caressing, _memorizing_ the contours of each other's bodies.

At some point, the slow gyrations of their hips became a frantic grind, with Koumyou on his back and Neil on top. Koumyou's fingers curled through Neil's belt-loops, trapping his hips, causing his heavy belt buckle to dig into Koumyou's belly. Koumyou's orgasm took him by surprise; he came hard, his release pulling a soft moan from his throat as let go the hold he had on Neil's hips. Neil groaned too, burying his head against into Koumyou's shoulder and he felt all the tension drain from Neil's body as they both stilled. Koumyou lay there, still pinned under Neil's weight, his hands tracing aimlessly over Neil's back. He felt a warm dampness beginning to seep through the material of his pants.

"Oh ..." he marveled aloud.

Neil stirred, sliding off Koumyou, but not breaking away from his embrace. Once again they were pressed side-by-side. Once again, Koumyou was rendered speechless. It was Neil's voice that broke the silence.

"I should go. Hiram doesn't know where I am."

Hiram. Guilt played in the corners of Koumyou's mind. Neil pulled away, scrambling for his shirt. Koumyou sat up, watching Neil warily, wondering what the hell he'd just done.

"Can I come back?" Neil asked, reaching for his glasses.

Koumyou blinked, then thought, of course, Neil still wanted to meet his brother. The cold dread returned.

"I-I ... Well, you see ... I mean ..." He reached vainly for some kind of explanation. "Neil, he's just a child."

Neil moved closer, towering over Koumyou before he stooped down. "I meant ... to see _you_."

"Oh!" Koumyou exclaimed, genuinely shocked. His heart beat a little faster. "Is that what you want?" he asked carefully.

In answer, Neil pressed his lips against Koumyou's in a chaste kiss. Unanswered questions swirled in Koumyou's mind, but he ignored them; now was not the time. He slid his arms around Neil's shoulders and settled them there loosely.

"I'd like that," he admitted. He felt Neil's body shift closer, and they leant on each other for a few minutes, basking in the silence, in the simple pleasure of being together.

Finally, Neil stood and walked to the doorway, Koumyou's eyes tracking him. He turned, an awkward smile pulling at his lips.

"Your secret's safe with me," he said, and then he vanished from sight. Koumyou heard the soft _click_ of the inside front door, the more muffled creak of the outside door. He let go the breath he'd been holding and reclined again on the couch, pondering the events that had just occurred. His eyes fell upon Elinor's painting and he thought about her letter.

Tomorrow, he would write back to her. Tomorrow, he would let her know that he wouldn't stop her from seeing her son.


End file.
